I'll be Your Hero
by Dreampainter97
Summary: America X Reader. America should be proud - he won the Revolutionary War, and is now independent. So why is he so sad? And WHO is knocking on his door?


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. All rights go to Himaruya Hidekaz. **

**Pre-Note: This story takes place right after America leaves England out in the rain after the final battle of the Revolutionary War.**

America sobbed into his hands, finally succumbing to the overwhelming sadness. He knew he would crumble sooner or later, so at least he was able to keep the tears in until he got home. The pain in his heart was almost palpable – as if his sorrow was materializing into a heavy metal in his body.

But it was all England's fault, right? After all, he did overtax him, and was too demanding, and never, _ever_ listened. So, he _was_ pretty much asking for it.

So why did that not make him feel any better?

_Because you broke his heart,_ a voice in his mind told him sternly. _Since when have you seen him cry? He cared about you, and you hurt him._

"Well he sure had a funny way of showing it," America retorted aloud sourly, his voice wavering. But…Did England really care? America had seen him loose colonies before, and he almost never batted an eye. Why was he so upset over America? Did he…Did…

_No_, America glared at the floor, _He couldn't. He treated me like garbage._ He fell to his knees, not caring that the dirt and mud that stained his pantaloons would stain the carpeting. His hair was still dripping from the rain that continued to pour outside.

_Pat…Pat…_ His tears fell on the floor with them, and he closed his eyes, willing them to stop.

_Pat…Pat…_

_Did…Did _I _care about him? Is that why I'm so upset?_

He looked around his living room, trying to find something – anything that could cheer him up. All of the remnants of his past relationship with England – the pictures, the gifts, the drawings – were all put away right after the Lexington and Concord incident. They now sat in a box in the attic. Even if America hated him, he couldn't bear throwing them away.

His eyes fell on a picture above his long-cold fireplace. Framed in ebony, propped with care, and a small rose laid in front, wilting ever so slightly.

He smiled, a grin that hadn't been seen in a long time. The picture was taken on a sunny day at the park, a few years ago. He remembered it fondly. It was him, with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, the both of you smiling radiantly. That picture was taken on your first date.

_(Your name),_ he thought, _Where is she now?_

The smile on your face in the picture was as bright as the boisterous personification's signature megawatt grin. Your (eye color) eyes sparkled with as much happiness as America's blue ones. That picture was taken so long ago. He knew you were now at your country, (country name). After all, countries really can't be from their home for too long. But he wished you were here. He needed you to cheer him up.

He felt the tears coming again. You wouldn't be able to visit. He wouldn't be able to see you for so long. Whenever he missed you, he would talk with England, but…Now…

The tears fell faster, and America looked back down at the floor beneath his hands, dirty and calloused. He was so alone.

"America?" A knock on the door, followed by a sweet feminine voice. "Alfred? Are you home?" Another knock.

America jumped at the sudden interruption. But he recognized that voice, and ran as fast as he could to the door, attempting to wipe his tears away as he did so. Heroes don't cry. He stopped at the door to try and wipe the rest away, hoping you wouldn't notice. Would you judge him? Would you call him cruel for breaking England's heart, or pat you on the back as a congratulations? Either one would have broken his heart. Then he realized something.

_Heroes don't leave their _girlfriends _out in the rain, either._ He opened the door, giving you some room to come in. You didn't move from where you stood in front of the front door. Your (hair color) hair was soaking wet, your small frown and knitted eyebrows telling him you could see right through him. You stared up at him with sympathetic concern, as if to ask, _Are you alright?_

America gave a small smile, as if to reply, _I'm fine._

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, your frown deepening. _Don't lie to me. I can read you like a book._

He sighed. _You aren't gonna let this go, are you?_

You uncrossed your arms and smiled softly. _I'm here to help._

This 'telepathic' communication was something that happened often between the two of you, even before you started dating. You used it a lot during really boring World Meetings, when you weren't able to talk aloud because someone else was talking, and usually exchanged silent jokes from one to another, stifling giggles behind your hands. You communicated with small gestures, tiny changes in facial expressions, or minute noises that can be almost inaudible if you weren't really paying attention. It occasionally freaked people out, because it seemed like you could read each other's minds. Plus, America really isn't one to pick up on small things or sense the mood.

He just paid close attention to you.

You did not move from your spot, stubborn and relentless, even as the cold rain dripped down your skin and soaked your clothes.

America sighed once more. _Fine_. You smiled, and America once again gestured for you to enter. "You could catch a cold if you stand in that rain, you know."

"Speak for yourself," you said with a small chuckle, still not moving. America looked down at his own soldier's attire, realizing he was no better. He laughed.

"Come on," America grabbed your hand and pulled you in. You just followed along without putting up a fight. Once you were in all of the way, he shut the door and took your coat off for you, hanging it up on the coatrack next to the large door. You smiled at him as a small _thanks_, and took his hand and pulled him to the couch across from the fireplace.

"Sit down for a second," you ordered softly, and he obeyed, much to your surprise. But you walked over to the beautiful hearth, placing some chopped logs from a bin next to it into the pit and lighting them with a match. Once the fire burned brightly, you took off your gloves and shoes, placing them in front of the crackling fire. America smiled softly at the action, watching you as you gingerly set your messenger hat there as well. The glowing warmth of the fire seemed to radiate off of your skin, and it looked beautiful. The water was still dripping from your hair and across your cheekbone, but you didn't seem to mind. You were focused intently on the fire before you as you took off your soaking wet stockings, setting them neatly alongside your shoes. He felt himself zone out a moment, relaxing in the warmth of the fire and the comfy couch that soothed his aching muscles. And your presence here made it so much better.

"…red? Alfred?" America blinked for a moment, snapping back to reality as he realized you were waving your hands in front of his face.

"What?" he asked, a little sheepish. "What happened?"

"I asked if you could take off your shoes and stockings so I could put them in front of the fire."

"Oh. Yeah, sure," America did as he was asked, happy to be rid of them. They were dirty and wet, just like the rest of his outfit. Once you had set them neatly alongside your own, you stood up. "Would you like some coffee? I could make some for you."

"Oh, no, I'll do it. This _is_ my house, after all," America made a motion to stand, but you held his shoulders gently, pushing him back down.

"No, allow me. Besides, your clothing is filthy. While I get the coffee, you should go wash up. Put on some clean, dry clothes."

"Jeez," America rolled his eyes playfully. "Yes, mother."

You smacked his arm lightly. "Don't mock me!" you said with a laugh. America held his hands up in mock defense, and you shook your head at him, your smile not fading. "Just go change. You're going to get sick at this rate. I'll clean up that wound for you, too," you added, gesturing to a large bloodstain on America's arm.

He stared down at it in bewilderment. "How long has that been there?"

You laughed. "Wow, really? Just go." You pushed him lightheartedly towards his room. "Go go go!"

"Alright! Alright!" he laughed at you. "You know how I like my coffee, right?"

"Two cream, one sugar," you called over your shoulder as you walked away, waving a hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

He laughed and proceeded into his room to change. He searched around for any clothes, and finally picked out a decent shirt and pants. He took off his dirty, bloody and wet soldier's uniform and threw it into the hamper, telling himself that he will clean it later. His mind still slightly in a fog, he went into the bathroom and washed his face and arms in the sink, wincing as his hand brushed over his wound. It looked pretty bad, but America shrugged it off. _Eh, I've had worse_.

He changed quickly, impatient to see you again. Once he walked out, he could smell the coffee already. He walked with large strides to the kitchen, where he watched you for a moment as you hummed a song he didn't know as you worked. He admired your smooth figure with a small smile, his heart throbbing a little louder. _She's so beautiful…_

You froze, stopping what you were doing for a moment, staring straight ahead of you. America blinked, puzzled at the action. You turned sharply in his direction, smiling mischievously, an eyebrow raised. "Really?" America blushed deeply, sputtering and brushing off his clothes as if they became suddenly important. You laughed at him, walking over and kissing his cheek sweetly. "You're such a dork. The coffee is ready. Go ahead and sit in the Living Room."

Embarrassed, America obeyed orders, fuming inside his head. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Heroes don't stare at girls!_

He slumped down onto the couch once more, not feeling as exhausted as before. He watched the fire crackle for a moment, before he turned his attention to your Mary Jane shoes, smiling at them. He wasn't sure why – perhaps anything that reminded him of you made him smile. They were so small compared to his shoes.

"Here you go, love," you set a tray with two cups of coffee and a kettle down on the coffee table in front of the couch. America gazed at it for a moment, then smiled up at you.

"Thanks. But you really should get dressed, too. You're soaked!"

You shrugged. "Alright." You had your own room in his house for whenever you stayed over, and it had your own closet with some of your own clothes. Of course, once you two started dating, you shared a room with him whenever you came over, but you continued to keep your clothes separated from his so it would be less messy in his closet.

He watched you leave to your room, then sighed. He was going to wait to ask questions until later.

YOUR POV:

_Hmmm…I think this looks okay,_ you thought, studying your outfit in the mirror after you had washed up and dried off. A simple blouse and skirt with long stockings. You really weren't one for fashion, like most others were, but you wanted to look good for America.

He seemed so upset when you first walked in, with his eyes slightly red and watery, but that went away pretty quickly. Did you cheer him up already? You smiled. _I'm better at this therapy thing then I thought._ You dropped on your hands and knees and searched under your bed for the first aid kit you kept hidden.

"Aha!" you mumbled, reaching in and grabbing it. _Alfred was pretty banged up. Good thing I worked as a nurse!_

AMERICA'S POV/TIMESKIP:

"So…Why did you come all this way, anyway?" America asked, gritting his teeth in an effort to not slap your hand away as she cleaned his cut. _Jeez, that hurts!_

You looked at him for a moment like he was retarded. "Uhhh…Why do you think?"

America paused. "Okay, let me rephrase. How did you get here? I thought you wouldn't be able to visit for, like, weeks!"

You rolled your eyes. "Don't use the word 'like' in a sentence like that. You sound like Poland."

"But you just said it!"

"Not in the way you did," you laughed. "Anyway, I pulled a few strings with my boss. I told him you should get some support for your injured troops, and I could help them with my past medical experience. So he allowed it. I'm going to do that tomorrow."

"Oh," America said, sounding a little disappointed.

"Of course, I didn't tell the complete truth," you added, seeming to notice his discontent.

"What?"

"I really only came here to see you, to make sure you were okay." You had finished cleaning the wound, and was beginning to bandage it. "I was really worried about you. From what I was told by the General Washington and Lieutenant General de Rochambeau, it was pretty rough."

America shrugged. "It had to be done."

You finished bandaging him rather quickly and neatly, and studied him for a moment. Then you sat down next to him and pulled him into a tight hug. He smiled and hugged back, feeling the tears once more welling up in his sapphire eyes. "Yeah, it did," you agreed.

He felt a tear drop down from his chin onto your hair, and you looked back up at him, wiping the tear away gingerly. Words weren't needed to convey your message. _I'm right here. Don't cry. Everything will be okay._ America smiled, the tears coming a little faster, and he pulled you close, burying his face in your hair and sobbing. You returned the hug immediately, as if knowing this would happen.

But this felt…Good. America nuzzled your head, the tears not stopping. It wasn't like before, when the sorrow just built up and up inside of him, almost crushing him with depression. Now, it was like he was pouring it all out, and he couldn't understand why. Maybe it was because you were here. You were always there for him, cheering him up when he was down. And now, as you whispered comforting words into his ear and stroked his back, he felt at peace once more.

You were his hero.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Okay, this was a request from one of my friends, and so…Here it is. Sorry if it's been used too many times. I'm not sure if it has, because I've never really read anything like this before, but…I'm sure lots of other people had come up with the same idea.

I do take requests still, but I've got two more I've gotta do, so if you do request, I'll get back to you and let you know how long it will be. Most likely within the week, but I'm not sure.

Thank you for all of the wonderful supporters! Hasta la pasta!~

~Dreampainter


End file.
